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 214 DOYLE

XCVII

THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR

ELEVEN men of England

A breastwork charged in vain; Eleven men of England

Lie stripped, and gashed, and slain. Slain; but of foes that guarded

Their rock-built fortress well, Some twenty had been mastered,

When the last soldier fell.

Whilst Napier piloted his wondrous way

Across the sand-waves of the desert sea, Then flashed at once, on each fierce clan, dismay,

Lord of their wild Truckee. These missed the glen to which their steps were bent,

Mistook a mandate, from afar half heard, And, in that glorious error, calmly went To death without a word.

The robber-chief mused deeply

Above those daring dead; 'Bring here,' at length he shouted,

'Bring quick, the battle thread. Let Eblis blast for ever

Their souls, if Allah will : But WE must keep unbroken

The old rules of the Hill.

Before the Ghiznee tiger

Leapt forth to burn and slay;

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